


Wayward Hearts

by WintermoonQueen



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Allergies, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Blood, Burns, Colonialism, Denial of Feelings, Drama, Entitled Men, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Misogyny, Nature, Nature Magic, Post-Frozen 2 (2019), Racism, Slow Burn, Useless Lesbians, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23116009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintermoonQueen/pseuds/WintermoonQueen
Summary: Elsa glares at him and jerks her chin out of his grasp. "You promised they would be safe. You still have yet to uphold your end of the bargain. Don't you dare touch her or any of my people ever again."--------Rumors of the Enchanted Forest and its 'Snow Queen' have ventured beyond Arendelle, piquing the interest of many curious men from powerful countries. Anna's duties as Queen of Arendelle are about to be put to the test, while Elsa and Honeymaren struggle to protect the forest and its inhabitants from intruders.
Relationships: Anna & Kristoff (Disney), Anna/Kristoff (Disney), Elsa & Honeymaren (Disney), Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 171





	1. Chapter 1

Sunbeams stream through the forest trees, illuminating the path Elsa takes on her morning strolls. Bruni follows after her, occasionally riding along the ends of her wing-like capelets and chittering for an icy snack. The Snow Queen all but chuckles and obliges him with an elegant swirl of her wrists. Snowflakes flutter onto the blue salamander’s extended tongue. The fire spirit seems to purr as the magic melts in his mouth.

When Elsa rounds the corner, Bruni leaps into her open palm and crawls up her arm to take his place as a lookout on her shoulder. A gust of wind flutters around Elsa, billowing her skirts with a chirp.

“Morning Gale,” Elsa laughs. Her platinum hair flutters behind her, cascading across her back. “Everything seems to be in order; find anything suspicious?” Gale circles her. “Nothing? That’s good.”

As she continues on toward the water, the fire and wind spirits follow her. Elsa quietly walks past the three sleeping Earth Giants, careful not to disturb their slumber. Bruni hides behind the curtain of her hair, only peeking one eye out between a couple strands.

Further down the riverbank, a low neigh catches the Snow Queen’s attention, and she toes down closer to the edge of the water. A water horse jumps out of the river and trots toward her. Elsa smiles, squinting her eyes and using her arm to shield her face when water splashes upward.

“Morning to you too, Nokk,” she greets, raising a hand to pet his snout. A glint of silver in the sunlight catches her eye, wavering beneath the water horse’s muzzle. “What’s that you got there?” she asks.

Nokk whinnies and drops it into her open palm. Bruni, who is now perched on her wrist, trills curiously. He prods at the shiny spherical object, causing it to roll further into Elsa’s palm. When he licks it, the salamander jumps. He flashes in a quick flare of pink and makes a face of such disgust that the Snow Queen can infer that whatever this object is, it certainly doesn’t taste great.

She soothes the fire spirit by offering him a tiny snowflake.

With the little spirit now distracted, Elsa inspects the unfamiliar object. It’s perfectly spherical, so it isn’t anything natural. Its smoothness makes it seem manmade, but the Northuldra have never shown her anything of the sort. All of their materials are from nature itself, and Honeymaren stressed that they only use what the forest has an abundance of. 

Elsa purses her lips; she’ll have to take it back to the Northuldran camp.

When Nokk nudges her, she uses her free hand to channel her ice into the water spirit’s pelt, freezing just his surface over. The now-ice horse tosses his head, the icicles of his mane shimmering like crystals, and canters majestically on land. Elsa is so awed by the ethereal display that she doesn’t realize the burning sensations in her palm until it scorches.

She gasps sharply and recoils, startling Bruni off her shoulder, and uncurls her fingers to reveal angry red blisters bubbling on the surface of her pale skin directly beneath the metallic sphere. Gale circles her arm in a whirlwind of distress, and Nokk whinnies again, pawing the ground with an icy hoof.

Elsa holds onto the object, despite the pain, and mounts the horse.

“Back to the camp,” she urges him breathlessly. Nokk breaks into a swift gallop through the forest.

As they approach the camp, Nokk slows and halts when he sees Yelena and Honeymaren approach. He bows low to the ground so Elsa can dismount. She winces as hot pain pulses throughout the hand holding the object. The Snow Queen attempts to hide the grimace, but to no avail. With the way the two women exchange looks, she knows they noticed. 

Honeymaren approaches her first.

“Morning,” Elsa greets her, fighting to ignore the pain. The woman merely quirks a brow at her and reaches for the hand Elsa has curled against her chest. When Honeymaren uncurls her fingers, the Snow Queen hears a loud gasp, and she can only imagine the damage it's done.

“Elsa, what happened?!” Honeymaren exclaims. The shock is evident in her voice, and Elsa can detect a tinge of anger in her tone. Yelena steps up beside her granddaughter and shares the reaction.

“What have you been doing, child? This must be treated right away—you have  _ blisters _ !” Yelena admonishes, raising her voice in a way that makes Elsa flinch.

“I was just doing my early morning patrol,” she defends, then offers the unknown object to them. “I found this inside Nokk. I don’t know what it is, but it burns when I touch it.”

“Elsa, if it burns, then why are you still holding it?!” Honeymaren chides. She scoops it out of her hands, and Elsa resists sighing in relief.

Elsa opens her mouth to retort but flushes instead. She had no place to put it and bringing it back to camp for further inspection was more important.

Yelena turns to Honeymaren and mutters, loud enough for Elsa to hear, “Salve and bandages. And for Elsa’s sake, don’t let her touch it again.” As Yelena regards Elsa, giving her a once-over to make sure she hasn’t burned herself elsewhere, she shakes her head and stalks off to check up on morning chores. 

Honeymaren places the sphere in one of the pouches secured on her belt.

“Come on; we need to treat your hand.”

Honeymaren leads Elsa to her tent and opens the door for her. Once inside, Elsa stands by the threshold with her blistered hand curled up by her chest and her other arm wrapped around her waist.

Honeymaren glances at her and scoffs, “Elsa, how many times do I have to tell you? Please make yourself comfortable. My tent is your tent.”

The Snow Queen bites her lip. She understands the sentiment, but she has never spent time (with the exception of her sister) in someone else’s private quarters for longer than a couple seconds. It’s unnerving, like she’s unintentionally invading the other woman’s space. So she continues to stand by the door with her arms kept close to her body.

“Come sit, please,” Honeymaren says so softly that Elsa almost wonders if this mellow woman is the same stoic person she witnessed earlier. She quietly obliges and takes a seat on the stool offered to her.

Honeymaren then extends a hand to her, but doesn’t touch. Her brown eyes flit up to Elsa’s, and Elsa nods then uncurls her arm to surrender her burned palm. The other woman thanks her and gently takes her by the arm, turning Elsa’s wrist so her blistered palm faces upward.

When she starts applying the salve, Elsa flinches and nearly jerks her hand out of Honeymaren’s grasp. A hiss is on the edge of her lips and tears prick at her eyes. She’s burned herself before, but nothing to this degree. Her skin is peeling away around angry red blisters, hot to the touch. The Northuldran’s grasp around her wrist tightens, careful not to harm her any further but enough to prevent her from pulling completely away. Honeymaren mutters an apology as she continues; but, this time, she eases her movements, and her touch is as gentle as her voice.

Elsa squeezes her eyes shut and bites her lip. Honeymaren pauses, the fingers holding the Snow Queen in place flutter on her knuckles. Elsa furrows her brows and opens her eyes to find the Northuldran woman scowling at her.

“Stop that.”

Elsa blinks, “Stop what?”

Honeymaren sighs, motioning with her free hand at the Snow Queen’s face.

“Biting your lip. You’re going to make yourself bleed!”

“Sorry,” Elsa murmurs, releasing her lower lip.

The Northuldran woman doesn’t respond; instead, she continues the task her grandmother entrusted her with. 

She’s a little tense, Elsa notices. Her shoulders are drawn up just a fraction, and her lips are pursed. Despite Honeymaren’s tenderness, her fingers tremble with each motion.

Elsa frowns. The silence treks on for another minute before she finally speaks up. “Honeymaren.” The woman pauses and glances up at her name, quirking a brow. “I can tend to myself. It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Honeymaren shakes her head with a chuckle. “I know for a fact that no one taught you how to properly dress a burn wound yet. Besides, Yelena entrusted this to me. Don’t worry, I’m almost done.”

Elsa shakes her head and starts to pull her hand back, “I insist. You already applied the salve; I can handle it from here.”

Honeymaren doesn’t let go. “I know for a fact that you’re as stubborn as a reindeer on a quest for carrots; and, if I leave you to finish this on your own, you would forgo the bandages. I’m not going anywhere until your hand is wrapped.”

Elsa opens her mouth to retort but knows she’s right. She can’t argue against that, especially not when the wrapping is nearly finished already. So instead she relaxes with a nod. 

Honeymaren responds with a soft smile, pleased that she’s cooperative again, and finishes wrapping the bandages. “There. Good as new. Though I wouldn’t advise you using that hand until Yelena or I say so. Chief’s orders.”

Elsa raises a brow at this, a tiny smirk playing at her lips. “Chief’s orders, huh? You’re not even the chief.”

“No,” Honeymaren agrees as she packs up the first aid. “But Yelena is, and she ordered me to tend to you. Would you rather face her wrath instead? Trust me, Your Majesty, when I say that I’m doing you a favor,” she chuckles.

“Very well,” Elsa replies. Then, she frowns. “I thought I’ve told you to stop calling me that.”

“Stop calling you what? ‘Your Majesty’?” At Elsa’s pointed look, Honeymaren raises her hands in surrender. “I slipped. Though be that as it may, you’ll always be a queen to me. After all, you’re the ‘Snow Queen’ foreigners far and wide say there've been sightings of in this very forest.”

Elsa laughs a little. “Oh, is that so?”

“Fifth Spirit. Snow Queen. You’re practically a myth now,” Honeymaren continues with a sly smile.

Elsa finds that smile contagious and can’t keep the tiny smirk off her face. Her eyes then trail down to the pouch at Honeymaren’s belt that she knows is holding the cursed object.

“May I see it?” she asks.

Honeymaren follows her gaze before locking her eyes back on Elsa.

“So you can burn yourself again? I don’t think so,” she says dryly, taking the pouch off her belt and moving it further from Elsa’s reach.

Elsa frowns. “I’m not going to touch it, I just. . . need to inspect it further. We don’t know what it is or why Nokk had it. Neither of us has seen anything like it before either.”

Honeymaren eyes her suspiciously for a few seconds before sighing and taking the sphere out of the bag. “Fine, but if you even  _ think _ about touching it, I’m putting it away. For good.”

When she holds it in her open palm between them, Elsa cranes her neck a little to get a better view. It’s as small as a berry—perhaps even smaller—and sits still between the lines of Honeymaren’s perfectly tan skin. Elsa’s blue eyes flicker, inspecting each part of the other woman’s palm for any sign of blistering.

None.

Elsa relaxes at this knowledge. In the back of her mind, she’s thankful that her friend is unaffected by it, then prays that no one else has the same reaction she has to the material.

Honeymaren rolls it in her palm, then catches it between her index finger and thumb, lifting it up to eye-level. Elsa’s skeptical gaze follows.

“It looks and feels like steel. You’re not allergic to that, are you?” When Elsa shakes her head, Honeymaren hums in thought. “It feels natural but doesn’t look like it’s from nature. Did any of the spirits react to it when you found it?”

Elsa sits up straighter, pursing her lips in thought.

“It didn’t seem to bother Nokk. Gale seemed fine; and, Bruni licked it, seemed disgusted, but was also fine.” Elsa shifts her gaze down to her hands and bites her lip. “. . .I’m the only one affected by it.”

Honeymaren looks concerned. She rolls the sphere back into her palm and inspects it for a minute. “That’s odd. It doesn’t look or feel like a material we work with either. Would someone in Arendelle know what it is?”

“That seems more likely,” Elsa replies. “I’m heading there in a day or so; perhaps General Mattias can tell me what it is.”

Honeymaren nods as she tucks the sphere away. “I'll keep this safe for you until then.”

_ And don’t touch it!  _ Elsa can practically hear the unspoken words. She gives a crooked smile and says, “Don’t worry; I wouldn’t dream of touching it after that debacle.”

Honeymaren just snorts, “Somehow, I don’t believe you. You better not.”

Elsa rolls her eyes. She won’t sit here and attempt to convince Honeymaren that she doesn’t have a burn wish.

An uncomfortable silence stretches between them, and Elsa takes this as her cue to leave. She stands, sending Honeymaren a grateful smile.

“Thank you. For tending to my hand. You didn’t have to do that.”

Honeymaren hesitates, and she averts her gaze as she stands to brush herself off. “I-It’s no problem,” she replies. When she meets Elsa’s eyes, she clears her throat, and a quirk of her lips graces her features. “Besides, I don’t think I would have trusted anyone else with the task. Only I am equipped enough to deal with your stubborn self.”

“Not stubborn,” Elsa mutters. She thins her lips, sucking them in and wetting them. Her mouth feels dry. “Are we done here?”

“So long as you don’t plan on burning yourself even more, yes. We’re done here,” the Northuldran woman quips. 

Elsa rolls her eyes. “You have the thing I’m allergic to, remember? So everything is dandy now.” She makes to stand, accidentally pushing off the stool with her injured hand and flinching with a low hiss. Her body tenses, and she curls her arm into her chest, cradling it.

“Dandy, huh?” Honeymaren raises a brow.

"Yes. Dandy. I've been cornered like an animal, shot at with crossbows, locked in iron manacles in a dungeon, sick and almost fell off a clocktower, survived the spirits throwing a tantrum in Arendelle, dragged across the Dark Sea by the Nokk, and frozen to death in Ahtohallan. A little burn is something I can handle."

“Yet, you clearly can’t function,” Honeymaren quips dryly. She crosses her arms and raises a brow.

Elsa fixes her with a quick glare before she straightens herself and holds her head high.

“I can function _just_ _fine_ ,” she says. “I just accidentally used the wrong hand.” As if to prove a point, she waves her left hand and conjures a series of fluttering snowflakes. The action, however, makes her recoil with a sharp gasp. Scorching pain crawls up both her arms. It feels as though someone took a burning dagger and is peeling at her skin. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and her legs buckle.

Honeymaren rushes to Elsa’s side, catching her by the waist and throwing her good arm over her shoulders to support her.

The Snow Queen purses her lips, face red with embarrassment at knowing her companion is witnessing her vulnerability.

Honeymaren eyes her with mild amusement. She shakes her head. “You were saying?”

Elsa balls her free hand into a fist and sets her jaw. “I can survive being dragged across the Dark Sea and Ahtohallan, but it’s a stupid shiny ball that makes me incapacitated?!” she grumbles.

“It would appear so,” Honeymaren replies, her voice carrying a slight lilt. “Come on; let’s take you somewhere you can rest—so you  _ won’t _ continue to hurt yourself.”

Before Elsa has time to protest, the Northuldran woman slides her arm underneath the crook of Elsa’s knees and scoops her into her arms. Her other arm is wrapped tight enough around Elsa’s waist.

“W-What are you doing?” Elsa sputters, panic rising in her chest. “It’s only my hand that’s burned; I can  _ walk _ !” She squirms for a moment, but Honeymaren tightens her hold; and, Elsa realizes she can’t do much with one hand.

“I’m taking you back to your tent so you can rest. And  _ only _ rest. No more magic. Not until your hand is healed.”

Elsa resists the urge to groan all the way back to her tent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly surprised by how this fic is being received! It greatly motivated to write more (and faster). Special thanks to the-magic-one-is-you for being my lovely beta! You catch things I definitely would have never caught on my own; and thanks for inspiring me for future chapters! Without further adieu, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter.

Anna groans.

Of all things that are required of her as a Queen, paperwork is the worst. Letters from foreign delegates, trade agreements, agreements and requests that need to be read over and signed, and more—all in one messy pile on her desk. It only ever seems that, the more she reads and thumbs through, the higher the pile stacks.

How Elsa had such a clean and empty desk all the time when she was queen is beyond her.

Not even a couple of minutes later, when Anna releases another frustrated groan, does Kristoff knock and nudge his way into her study with a filled tray. The scent of soup and various meats hits her, and she drops her quill pen and slides her chair back.

“Oh thank God, is it lunch time? I’m starving. You have no idea how insufferable it is to sit here and read such pompous letters,” she rambles, taking a sandwich from the tray before Kristoff can even set it down on a nearby table.

“I can imagine,” he chuckles, pulling up a chair next to her. He eyes her workload before taking a generous bite of his sandwich. “Give yourself some credit; you did put a bit of a dent in your paper mountain.”

Anna, already halfway through her first sandwich, glares at the papers on her desk.

“Yeah right,” she scoffs, taking a rough bite of her meal. They sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying their lunch as the afternoon sun streams through the uncovered windows and casts a comfortable warmth into the study.

A frown settles over Anna’s face as she stares at the enormous pile of papers overflowing on her desk. An overwhelming feeling of being lost and abandoned, left to pick up the pieces of her kingdom, settles within her abruptly burning chest. The flame is doused as quickly as it started; and, instead, a chilling sensation drops into her stomach like ice cubes in water.

When Elsa abdicated the throne of Arendelle to her, she made sure that Anna was equipped with all the skills she needed to run the kingdom. Her sister stayed for a couple weeks, and they spent long hours going over important documents, current negotiations in the works, and the like. For that, Anna was ever grateful to her; but, the moment Elsa left astride her majestic Dark Sea stallion, she missed her terribly. She still does.

She’s wandered the castle on many sleepless nights, pausing to enter her sister’s empty room, only to find herself waking in that exact bed the next morning, staring up at the ceiling feeling cold and empty. Not even Kristoff can fill the ache within her chest after nights like those.

It’s as though her heart creates space for certain people; and, once they leave, all that’s left is an aching gap.

It’s irrational, and she always attempts to reason with herself. Anna was aware of what would happen once she agreed to become Queen of Arendelle, but that doesn’t mean the absence of her sister’s daily presence in her life hurts any less.

How did Elsa cope with such a heavy crown on her head for six years and manage to rise each morning despite her differences?

She’s thought about writing to her with such questions but refrains each time. Elsa is finally free, and who is Anna to push her burdens onto her?

Anna sucks in a trembling breath. Her vision blurs as she struggles to rise to her feet and make her way to the window overlooking the bustling kingdom.

When she feels Kristoff’s quiet warmth next to her, exuding a strength she latches onto, her lips tremble as she holds back a sob. His arms prevent her from crumbling.

“I miss her.”

* * *

Honeymaren grunts, the air leaving her lungs upon the impact against her wooden staff. The backs of her hands are pressed up against her chest, fingers straining to keep a solid grip on her weapon. The muscles in her arms ache from the force of her opponent’s strength, and she clenches her teeth so hard that they audibly grind. She steps backward, the leather of her boots sliding along the ice and snow that has become her battlefield. Sweat trickles down her temple and settles itself uncomfortably in the collar of her jacket.

Her brown eyes shift from the colliding staffs to the taller man in front of her. She bares her teeth and lets out a loud growl, stepping forward with one foot to use her other as leverage to push; but, instead, when her mentor releases her, she falls flat on her face into the snow.

Not one to give up, Honeymaren jumps up to her feet, spitting out a mouthful of snow before charging at her opponent’s legs. He evades the swipe of the end of her staff and counters her momentum by catching her legs with a low sweep of his foot.

Honeymaren tumbles flat on her back, her hat now fallen off her head into a nearby snowbank, with the wind knocked out of her. She arches, gasping for air. Once she gathers her bearings, her grip on her staff tightens; but, when she attempts to rise, a foot pins her fighting hand down by the wrist.

“That’s enough for today. You’re too reckless, and you’re going to kill yourself,” her mentor says gruffly. “Your footing is terribly off. You should learn how to fight on the ice better,” he continues, chiding her.

Honeymaren frowns, glaring up at him as she catches her breath, her chest rising and falling unevenly in an attempt to mask how tired she actually is.

“You know I hate fighting in Winter, Eret,” she grumbles. Her mentor chuckles in response, the sound deep and rare enough to surprise her. She accepts his hand and allows him to pull her back onto her feet. Honeymaren brushes off any remnants of snow left over from her embarrassing fall.

“You’ll have to learn and adapt no matter the conditions. You know this, Maren. Neither the forest nor the spirits give a damn when you’re fighting,” Eret tells her so matter-of-factly that she nearly cringes. The crinkles by his temples are prominent now that he has a moment to scrutinize her through squinted eyes.

The heat of his gaze burns through Honeymaren, and she clenches a fist at her side, despising how easily he can make her feel like a reckless child.

“You should hang out with your Spirit friend more; she seems to have perfect footing on the ice,” Eret suggests with a tiny smirk, leaning on his staff.

Honeymaren rolls her eyes, picking up her own wooden staff. “That’s because the ice is part of her; it’s not the same.”

“Sure it is,” Eret says, standing up straight to rest his weapon on his shoulders. “You may not have the powers, but think of yourself as one with the snow and ice. You could stand to learn a thing or two from her, I think. . . especially patience.”

Honeymaren shoots him a glare, her lips pulled thin.

“I have patience! You just test it too often. . .” Maren trails off with a grumble, averting her gaze to the tracks in the snow.

“Speaking of snow. . .” Eret turns his gaze to a nearby tree, and Honeymaren turns her head to spot Elsa by the edge of the forest leading into the clearing they were just sparring in.

The sunlight shines over the Fifth Spirit, catching her blonde hair in an intense, angelic glow. The crystals on her dress glimmer in a way that nearly blinds Honeymaren; her breath hitches. The sparkle of her white dress is almost as mesmerizing as the woman herself.

When they make eye contact, a soft smile curls along Elsa’s features, causing Honeymaren’s heart to skip a beat.

Eret pokes her from behind with his staff, making her lose her footing for a moment. Honeymaren catches herself and shoots him a glare. Her mentor chuckles.

“Get a grip; she’s coming over.”

Honeymaren straightens her back, turning on her toes and stabilizing herself on the snow. Her fingers tighten around the wood of her staff, enough that she’s sure she’ll find a splinter or two later. As Elsa approaches, Honeymaren tries to match her radiant smile, though it’s crooked and forced.

She inwardly groans. _Eret is right; get a grip Maren! Is this how you’re supposed to act around a friend?! Like a dumb deer?!_

“Good afternoon,” Elsa says, halting a couple of feet from them. A soft smile is plastered on her face and her bright blue eyes twinkle with an amusement that tells Honeymaren that the Fifth Spirit witnessed enough of her tumbling and failed attempts at sparring on the ice.

The Northuldran woman wants nothing more than to dive deep into the depths of the Dark Sea. Next to Honeymaren, Eret chuckles lowly. It’s a deep, but muffled, laugh. She’s quite sure she’s the only one close enough to hear it, so she leans a shoulder back toward him—as subtly as possible—and growls at him through the corner of her lips, parting just barely. “Shut up, you!”

”Honeymaren?” Elsa calls, her voice soft and melodic.

Honeymaren straightens herself again. She reaches up to toss her braid off her shoulder and scratches the back of her head.

“Afternoon, Elsa! Eret and I were just sparring,” she replies, forcing herself to not gawk at the way the sunlight frames Elsa’s form from behind; its rays outline the white of her dress and the paleness of her skin and hair in an ethereal glow that steals Honeymaren’s breath.

_What’s wrong with me?_

Elsa shifts on her feet, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as her gaze flickers from Honeymaren to Eret and back again. “I saw. It was interesting to watch,” she pauses to purse her lips. “Is sparring a common Northuldran tradition?”

“Uh. . .”

Eret steps up next to Honeymaren, placing a hand on her shoulder as if to say ‘I got this’ while also humiliating her for having a twisted tongue.

“It’s not so much of a tradition as it’s just a precaution to make sure we can protect ourselves,” he says, digging the bottom-end of his staff in the snow. Eret squeezes Honeymaren’s shoulder before releasing her.

The moment he backs away, Honeymaren tosses him a quick glare; her nose scrunches, and her eyes squint, the dark-brown of her eyes only glinting beneath the flutter of her lashes.

"That's a good strategy," Elsa says with a nod, catching Honeymaren's attention again. "Actually, Honeymaren, there's something I need to show you, if you're not too busy?"

Honeymaren notices the hesitation in her stance—how her delicate fingers twitch at her sides and how she catches her bottom lip with her teeth. They're nervous habits that the Northuldran woman has picked up on since Elsa moved into the Enchanted Forest after abdicating the throne to Anna. Her younger sister was at the forefront of her mind, and, despite Honeymaren doing all she could to ease Elsa’s worries, the habits persisted. Despite all the power at her fingertips, the Fifth Spirit is quite reserved in nature, albeit a little apprehensive in novel situations. 

"What? Oh, no, I'm not busy. We just finished up, right Eret?"

Her mentor just shrugs and picks up his weapon with a low grunt. Honeymaren resists rolling her eyes.

When she looks back at Elsa, she expects her to give an explanation of what it is that she needs to show her, but Honeymaren finds herself having to scramble—almost sliding on the ice—after Elsa, who seems to glide back into the forest, her ivory dress trailing behind her in the snow.

If Honeymaren didn't know any better, she'd think she's being lured in by a devious winter fae.

However, she knows Elsa. Deviousness is not a trait of hers. Mischievousness, though, that's another story. In the back of her mind, a little voice tells Honeymaren she'd follow Elsa to the ends of the Earth. She supposes that's not too far off from being lured by sinister fae.

Honeymaren is almost out of breath by the time she catches up with Elsa. The Fifth Spirit pauses in her movements along a familiar path in the forest. A thin brow is quirked above her bright blue eyes, and Honeymaren's chest stutters as she tries to act nonchalant while sparsely taking in more oxygen.

Honeymaren must be too transparent because Elsa takes pity on her. "Sorry," she says. "I should have waited until you were ready to follow."

Honeymaren wishes her tone didn't sound so soft and apologetic because a guilt settles in the pit of her stomach. The Northuldran woman catches her breath for a moment before straightening herself and placing a hand on her hips. "It's no big deal. I should have been paying attention," she replies, and it's true. She swears her attention span flew away with Gale as soon as Elsa entered the clearing.

"Hmm," Elsa hums, her eyes scrutinizing Honeymaren, whose breath hitches. "You seem quite distracted today. Are you alright?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine. I might be a little disoriented after my sparring session, but I'm. . . great, actually."

Elsa nods, seeming to be satisfied with Honeymaren's answer, and turns back to the forest. Honeymaren watches how she straightens her back and, with a glance over her shoulder, starts forward again. The Northuldran woman is quick to react, falling in step with the Fifth Spirit with ease this time. Silence stretches between them as they walk, save for the shuffle and crunch of snow beneath their feet.

"What do you need to show me?" Honeymaren finally asks, the curiosity nipping at her heels. She’s not prepared to witness the deep frown that mars Elsa's beautiful face. However, the blonde woman doesn't answer, and Honeymaren chews the inside of her cheek, sucking on the inside of her mouth. She’s about to fish for an answer again when Elsa halts in her tracks. Honeymaren catches herself just in time, her feet slipping on ice; but, she slides a little ways past Elsa rather than _into_ her.

"What—" Honeymaren gasps, the cold air seeping into her lungs.

Her throat closes around a sob. Her knees hit the ground, the coldness of the snow soaking through the fabric of her brown pants.

An array of haphazardly cut trees block their path, piled on top of one another. The white bark on each is peeled and ripped into visible scars that pierce the Northuldran woman's soul, eliciting a choked whimper to escape her parted and trembling lips.

Her brown eyes shift to the tree closest to her, and she scrambles on all fours to inspect. It's hanging onto the trunk by a mere shred of bark. As Honeymaren reaches out to trace its wound, the roughness of the man-made cut makes her recoil. This time the sob that bubbles deep within her chest is ripped from her throat. It's so raw and obnoxious that Honeymaren wonders if the sound is coming from her. She lurches forward and curls her hands into fists, crushing the snow she's accidentally scooped.

Honeymaren's teeth clench. The brimming in her eyes spills over; the tears are hot and salty as unbridled rage swirls deep within her core, mixing with the overriding sadness that already fills her heart.

"Who?" she asks with eyes locked on the sinister deeds in front of her. "Who would do this?" Honeymaren licks her dry lips. The chill in the air doesn't bother her.

She hears Elsa shift behind her. At the soft sigh escaping the Fifth Spirit, Honeymaren squeezes her eyes shut and pushes herself onto her feet.

"I don't know," Elsa replies, her voice soft as silk, dripping with a sadness Honeymaren hasn't heard before; it makes her heart ache, and she feels dizzy. "Someone who doesn't care. Someone who doesn't belong here."

The words strike Honeymaren like a punch to the gut, and she scans the area more closely, as if searching for the culprit. Instead, she finds wagon tracks and an overwhelming number of hoof and footprints between and around them. Torn fabric peeks out of the snow, taunting her.

Honeymaren trembles with each breath. She can hear nothing but the pounding of her rapid pulse in her ears. In a swift movement, she plucks the fabric out of the snow and crushes it in her palm before releasing a loud yell that sounds like a growl. She chucks the trash back to the ground, stepping on it.

This isn't just someone who doesn't care. This is someone who _disrespects_ nature.

Honeymaren startles at the pale hand on her shoulder. When she looks up, her honey-brown eyes meet Elsa's icy-blue gaze, and she sucks in a breath at the new warmth they instill in her.

"I'll get to the bottom of this," Elsa promises, and it's the most sincere Honeymaren has ever heard her be. "I'm here to protect the forest and its inhabitants. I won't let these intruders do any more harm."

Honeymaren frowns a little. "It's my job to protect it too," she replies. Her ire dissipates and is replaced with a sense of duty to the forest and her people.

Elsa looks surprised for a moment, but she smiles in response.

"Then we'll protect it together," Elsa confirms. She then releases Honeymaren and takes a step back, eyes locking onto the pouch attached to the Northuldran woman's belt. "I think the sphere we found the other day is related."

Honeymaren's eyes widen, and she rushes to pull the object out of her pouch, inspecting it.

"How do you know?" she asks, pursing her lips.

"I don't; it's just a hunch. I'm going to head to Arendelle first thing in the morning with it," Elsa declares.

Honeymaren frowns, covering the sphere and holding it out of the Fifth Spirit's reach. She eyes Elsa's recently un-bandaged hand. Aasta, the Northuldran healer, only just declared the other day that Elsa doesn't need bandages anymore. "Oh, _no you don't_ ," she replies, voice raising an octave. "You're not going anywhere near this thing. I'm coming with you, then."

Elsa's eyebrows raise, and she looks ready to protest; but, she relents and bites her lip.

"Fine, then we'll go to Arendelle together."

This makes Honeymaren smile, mentally pumping a fist in victory.

"Together, then," she confirms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think and the next chapter will be up sooner than later ;)
> 
> Also, stay safe and healthy during this time (stay home if you can!) <3


	3. Chapter 3

After agreeing to go to Arendelle together, Elsa and Honeymaren head back to the village to inform Yelena of what they witnessed in the forest. The Northuldran leader seems perplexed, if not alarmed, and promptly calls for a meeting. The elders seem just as alarmed, and a range of emotions clash. They argue more than they speak, and Elsa senses a heaviness in the air that can only be defined as fear. It’s then that she intervenes to inform Yelena and the circle of elders that she and Honeymaren are travelling to Arendelle in the morning for answers.

At dawn, both women stand at the edge of the water as Elsa preps Nokk for the journey. Honeymaren suggests that they head out by wagon, but Elsa doesn’t like the idea of taking a day or two to arrive. Not when there’s a threat to the Enchanted Forest.

Nokk neighs and shakes his head, prancing around Elsa to showcase his appreciation of his new ice form. The water spirit can't step a hoof on land without the help of her powers, and Elsa figures it will be easier for Honeymaren to ride him in a more solid form.

The Snow Queen grins, shaking her head in amusement, and waits for him to finish showing off. When Nokk brays and bows, Elsa climbs up, seating herself on his back. She shifts her weight, straightens her back, and holds out a hand to Honeymaren. The Northuldran woman hesitates but takes Elsa's hand to clamber on less gracefully behind her.

Nokk snorts and paws the ground impatiently.

"Not yet," Elsa tells him, patting the side of his neck. "Give her a moment. She's used to riding reindeer, not magical water spirits."

Honeymaren wraps her arms around Elsa's middle and squeezes. In response, Elsa pats the backs of her hands to reassure her—'I won't let you fall.'

She feels Honeymaren release a warm breath against her back, and the grip on her waist loosens.

"Are you ready?" Elsa calls back to her with a slight smirk. Nokk tenses beneath them, ready to go.

Honeymaren's fingers dig into Elsa's waist again; the pressure causes Elsa’s sides to stiffen and she fights the tingle that races up her spine by stiffening her back. However, when Honeymaren rests the side of her head against Elsa's shoulder, Elsa finds herself leaning back into the peculiar warmth.

A stray thought comes to the forefront of Elsa’s mind that she’s more than comfortable with this arrangement and she doesn’t want the ride to end before it’s even started. It confuses her, but Elsa decides not to dwell on it.

"Yeah,” Honeymaren breathes, her lips ghosting against Elsa’s bare shoulder. “I'm ready, let's go."

* * *

They arrive before noon. Elsa helps Honeymaren off of Nokk, who bows to them before leaping back into the water.

Elsa holds onto the Northuldran woman's hand a little longer than necessary with the intent of leading her through town and to the castle. She finds that a tiny smile is curling along her face at the sight of Honeymaren staring up at all of the buildings with her jaw slack. Elsa would love to give her a tour, but they need answers right now.

The Snow Queen lets go of her hand and allows Honeymaren to fall into step with her.

"I'll show you around later, if you want," Elsa says, her smile growing soft when Honeymaren turns her wandering gaze to her in surprise.

"Are you sure?" she asks, going rigid. Honeymaren raises her hands and shakes her head. She starts to ramble, "I don't want to intrude or anything. I know it's been a while since you've seen Anna. I can certainly explore on my own."

Elsa tilts her head, furrowing her brows. "You're my guest here. Why wouldn't I? Besides, it would be my pleasure to show you my home."

Honeymaren seems to hesitate, her wide brown eyes darting along the buildings and down to the cobblestone streets before making their way back to Elsa. A wide grin blooms on Honeymaren’s features. "Then I would be honored," she replies, a little more lax now.

The two women make their way to the castle gates. The Arendelle guards recognize Elsa immediately and allow her inside. Each one of them bows as Elsa glides through the open doors with Honeymaren in tow. The Northuldran woman smiles at them and flutters her fingers in an awkward wave.

"My Lady!" A guard gasps, shocked by her arrival as they had not gotten word from Anna about her visiting. "I will inform Her Majesty of your arrival right away!" Before Elsa can speak, he darts out of the throne room, leaving the ornate door ajar.

Honeymaren chuckles.

"You're a pretty big deal here, huh?"

Elsa shrugs despite the amused smile on her visage.

"Only a little. I certainly wasn't a monarch here once," she replies coyly, which elicits a snort from the woman beside her.

Honeymaren opens her mouth to respond but is interrupted when the guards announce Anna's arrival, and the Queen herself steps through the doors. Any shred of grace Elsa's sister had is flung out the window the moment they lock eyes. A wide smile is plastered on Anna's face; and, with a teary gaze, she rushes into Elsa's arms and is enveloped tightly.

"I almost didn't believe them when they told me. You never sent Gale to tell me you were coming!" Anna exclaims, resting her head on Elsa's shoulder with a tiny sniff. "I missed you."

“I missed you too, dear sister,” Elsa sighs into her hair.

They hug for a few minutes before they pull away. Elsa offers a small smile when she holds Anna by the arms to examine her. Her sister looks every bit of a queen, causing Elsa’s chest to swell with pride.

“So,” Elsa says, speaking up first. “How do you find yourself and Arendelle faring?” she asks with a mirthful gaze.

Anna smiles a little at her older sister’s question. Though Elsa can’t help but notice the slight hesitation in her body language—the twitch of her lips, the tensing in her shoulders, and the bite of her lower lip—before she speaks.

“As well as it could be going. Though, I think my transition to being Queen, that you’ve kindly helped me prepare for, is going as smoothly as possible,” she decides to say.

Elsa raises a curious brow but doesn’t pry. Instead, she nods, humming in satisfaction at her sister’s answer. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad.”

There’s a beat of silence. Anna hesitates again, her eyes flickering from Elsa to Honeymaren before settling back on her sister.

“. . .Aaand how is everything in the Enchanted Forest?” Anna asks with a slight drawl, her eyebrows furrowing and her blue eyes flickering with curiosity.

Elsa bites her lip and sighs. She exchanges a worried glance with Honeymaren. “Anna, there’s something we have to talk to you about. . .”

* * *

“Your Majesty, what a pleasant surprise,” Mattias greets Anna the moment they enter the training courtyard. His eyes then shift from the monarch to the two women behind her.

Elsa steps up next to her sister with a genuine smile.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, General Mattias. How are you re-adjusting to Arendelle?” Elsa asks, clasping her hands in front of her ivory skirts. Honeymaren lingers a ways behind her, careful not to overstep her boundaries.

Mattias chuckles, nodding to the Snow Queen at her warm greeting. “I assure you that no re-adjusting has had to be made. It’s just like old times,” he replies with a wide smile.

"That's good," Elsa says.

After a minute or so of light chatter, Anna speaks up to call Mattias’ and Elsa's attention. Elsa notices her sister glance behind them to where Honeymaren is waiting before speaking again.

"Actually, Mattias, we have something that needs to be discussed more privately," she says.

Mattias looks between the three women before turning, motioning for them to follow into his offices in the barracks. After they've all shuffled inside and the door is closed, Mattias stands patiently with his hands held behind his back.

Elsa begins by describing what she and Honeymaren saw in the forest. General Mattias listens with a pensive face but never interjects.

Honeymaren seems to be more comfortable to speak up, her voice trembling a little with the same restrained ire that the Snow Queen witnessed back in the Enchanted Forest.

"There's something else," she starts, stepping beside Elsa as she digs into her pouch for the sphere. When she uncurls her hand to reveal it to Mattias, the general's pensive face shifts to one of confusion.

"A bullet?" he asks. "May I?"

Honeymaren nods and rolls it into his open palm.

As he inspects it, Elsa inwardly berates herself. Of course it’s a bullet; why hadn't she concluded that earlier? The Snow Queen may have been isolated in a castle most of her life, the only weapons she saw daily were the swords the Arendellian guards carried around; but, she'd heard of guns—had even seen paintings in her history books. Perhaps she hadn't made the connection because there was no evidence of a gun when Nokk dropped the bullet into her hands.

"Odd," Mattias says, startling Elsa out of her thoughts. "It seems to be made out of aluminum."

"Aluminum?" Honeymaren asks. Elsa feels the Northuldran woman's body tense beside her. "It can't be natural; otherwise Elsa would have known that she’s allergic to it long ago."

Anna's eyes widen, and she turns to Elsa, making as if to say something; but, Mattias cuts her off.

"No, it's a natural element. The bigger European countries are looking for places to mine it from. However, it's a poor material choice for bullets if you ask me," he replies.

"Then why make them out of aluminum?" Elsa speaks up this time.

Mattias makes a noise that sounds like a chuckle and a sigh.

"It's a new material, so everyone wants to use it. It's worth more than gold these days because it's not easy to find. You have to dig deep into the earth, which explains why Elsa hasn't encountered it before."

"If it's from nature, then why does it burn Elsa?" Honeymaren asks, a bit of anger in her tone.

Mattias frowns, his eyes shifting from the Northuldran woman to Elsa.

"I don't know. I wish I could tell you. The best advice I can give is to stay away from it."

“Thank you, Destin,” Anna says. 

There’s a finality and gentleness to her tone that Elsa hasn’t heard from her in this context before. Her heart swells a little when she notices the formal walls ebb away the moment her sister uses General Mattias’s first name; and, he looks upon her like a father would a daughter. This knowledge eases Elsa; Anna is being taken care of while she’s gone.

The glint of softness is still there when he shifts his gaze from Anna to Elsa. The harshness of his commanding tone is gone when he addresses her. “Let me know if anything suspicious happens in the forest. You know I’ll be the first to aid you.”

Elsa smiles gratefully and nods. “I understand. Thank you, General Mattias.”

“Destin,” he corrects her, the fondness in his gaze ever more present than before. “Destin is fine when we’re alone, Elsa.”

Elsa feels her throat tighten; and, she wonders if this is how Anna felt the first time she spoke candidly with the general. “Thank you, Destin,” she says, a tiny smile curling upon her thin lips.

“We appreciate you taking the time out of your day to see us, General Mattias.” Just like that, Anna builds the formal walls again; and, Mattias bows his head to her as she takes Elsa by the arm and leads them outside.

Elsa feels her sister’s fingers stiffen on her arm, almost with bruising force, as they walk back inside the castle. Honeymaren treads behind, keeping a respectful distance from the two Arendellian royals.

Once the three of them are alone, Anna whirls on her. Her blue eyes flash dangerously down to Elsa’s hands.

“Which one?”

Elsa blinks, caught off guard by her sister’s abrupt irritation. “What?”

“Your hand. Which one did you burn?” Anna fumes, reaching out to grasp both of Elsa’s hands.

“I—” Elsa sighs, making to pull her hands away; but, Anna’s grip is vice-like. She caves. “This one.” She turns the damaged hand palm-side up to reveal the healing patch of skin in the middle. The dead skin has long since peeled away, but the rawness is still there, a pink and vulnerable contrast to the ivory of her hand. It doesn’t hurt much, save for the occasional itchiness that Honeymaren often hisses at her to leave alone. “ _That means it’s healing_ ,” Elsa remembers Aasta informing her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Anna asks in a shaky voice as she inspects the burn wound.

Elsa swallows. She averts her gaze, already knowing exactly what her sister will say in response to her reply.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

Anna goes rigid and glares down at Elsa’s hand. “ _Bullshit_ ,” she hisses, causing Elsa to wince. “You _promised_ you wouldn’t shut me out!”

“Anna I—”

“No, Elsa,” Anna cuts in, letting go of Elsa’s hands and taking a deep breath through her nose. She exhales, seeming to take steps to calm herself. “If something is a danger to you, you _need_ to tell me! What if you came in contact with aluminum; and, I didn’t know what was happening or how to help you?! What if you were _dying_ from burning up; and, I didn’t know why?! For God’s sake, Elsa, it’s an _allergy_!”

Elsa closes her eyes, resigning. Her sister has a point. She should have never withheld that information.

When she hears Anna exhale again, Elsa can’t help the apology from slipping past her lips—more than once.

“Just promise me,” Anna sighs this time, all the pent-up energy from before leaving her in waves. “Promise me that the next time something hurts you, you won’t keep it from me? I’m Queen now; and, anything that affects my sister affects me, and, by extension, Arendelle. I can handle it.”

Elsa’s eyes flutter open to take in the sight of her sister. Her little sister who has grown to be so wise and beautiful. She smiles softly at that and takes Anna’s hands, bringing them up to her cheek. Her resolved blue eyes meet Anna’s as she replies, as finitely as possible, “I promise.”

* * *

Later that night, after Elsa shows Honeymaren to one of the many guest rooms, she retires to bed. With heavy eyes, she allows the familiar surroundings of her childhood room to lull her to sleep. However, Elsa has never been known to be a deep sleeper. The tiniest creaking sound of her bedroom door opening makes her stir. Then, she blinks her eyes open when a weight falls beside her on the bed.

“Anna?” Elsa whispers, catching her sister’s red hair in the moonlight. She hears a shaky intake of breath.

“Sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you,” Anna whispers as she shuffles under the covers.

Elsa shakes her head, a tiny yet tired smile quirking in the corners of her lips. “No need to apologize. Can’t sleep?”

“No. Not when I know that you’re here,” Anna replies softly.

Elsa hums and opens her arms; her sister wastes no time in cuddling into the invitation, sighing contentedly once she’s settled. Elsa rests her chin on Anna’s head when she starts to drift off again.

Anna twitches and shifts every couple of minutes, breaking Elsa out of each moment towards peaceful slumber. Finally, when her sister releases a deep, frustrated sigh, Elsa sits up—causing Anna to reposition.

“Okay, come on,” she says, voice groggy. She sets up the pillows, fluffing them out. “Cuddle close, scooch in.”

At the sight of Elsa’s open arms, Anna smiles apologetically.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

Elsa shakes her head and beckons to Anna with a flutter of her fingers. When Anna scoots in close, Elsa wraps her arms around her, settling them both comfortably against the pillows.

“So,” Elsa murmurs against Anna’s hair, breaking the silence. “Is something bothering you?”

She feels Anna stiffen in her arms for a moment before hearing a soft exhale. Elsa places a comforting kiss on her sister’s crown.

“I just—I miss you is all. A lot. It’s not the same here without you, you know. I fall asleep in here sometimes,” Anna admits, her soft voice cracking as she speaks. It’s enough to break Elsa’s heart; the ache in her chest is, all at once, too heavy to bear.

“I miss you too, you know. I lie awake at night in Northuldra worrying myself to death about how you’re faring. I miss your cheeriness and optimism,” Elsa admits, her whispers seeming to echo and linger in the otherwise silent room. “But, I know we’ll be okay. We’re both happy and well, and that’s all I can ask for.”

She feels the rumble of Anna’s hum against her, and Elsa smiles.

“I know what will help,” she says mirthfully. When Anna looks up at her, Elsa lifts a finger to rest it along the bridge of her sister’s nose.

Elsa inhales, closing her eyes for a split second, before starting the song with a low, soothing hum. It’s only when she parts her lips that she begins to softly sing.

“ _Where the North wind meets the sea. . ._ ”

The gentle tune of Elsa’s voice floats throughout the room. It’s melodic and enchanting enough that Elsa feels the heaviness in her own eyes at the calmness that’s settled. Her fingers never halt the slow, rhythmic touch on the bridge of Anna’s nose.

Once the lullaby is finished, Anna is fast asleep in her arms.

Elsa smiles, tightens her hold on her sister, and curls up, allowing the sweet bliss of sleep to overcome her as she whispers, “Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this chapter was a pain and I'm still not entirely happy with it. This was a big 'setting up' chapter, so not too much happens, but I hope you guys enjoyed the bits of peace and fluff (because it won't last too long)! I'm trying to aim for weekly updates, but as the chapters get longer that'll be harder.
> 
> Anyways, please let me know what you think and see you guys next chapter (where we get some more Honeymaren POV) :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is two months late. I have no excuse besides the fact that it fought me tooth and nail and then it gave me a cavity and Miss Corona won't let me go to the dentist. Hopefully the length and content makes up for it the wait!

Honeymaren’s eyes flutter open at the sun’s first rays that stretch across the room. She stares up at the canopy, releasing a breath as her bleary eyes focus on the draped lace. The bed is much larger than she anticipated. She tossed and turned all night with a lingering dread that the vastness would swallow her whole in the darkness. Even now her heart races at the thought.

Back home, Honeymaren’s space is humble. Her tent is small enough that it wouldn’t even take up half of this room. This bed alone certainly wouldn’t fit in its tight space. _Is this how all royals live?_ Honeymaren wonders. How much space does _one_ person need?

She shifts onto her side, coming face-to-face with a portrait on the wall—someone she doesn’t know but looks important. Though, Honeymaren knows that no matter how much authority one might exude, no one will be as important as Elsa is to her—to the _Northuldra_ that is. A voice in the back of her tired mind laughs at her slip-up, but Honeymaren ignores it.

The heavy comforter is suddenly all too suffocating and hot. She feels sweat gather on her back, and she kicks off the blankets with a grunt.

It’s stuffy. Just like this entire castle.

An abrupt knock on the door startles Honeymaren into a sitting position. She’s rigid on the bed, eyes locked on the ornate door, unsure of what the proper response should be. Castle etiquette is enough to make Honeymaren’s head spin. It’s only been a day, and she longs to go back to the simplicity of the forest.

“Honeymaren? Are you awake?”

Honeymaren nearly falls back onto the bed in relief at the wondrous, eloquent sound of Elsa’s soft voice. The spirits have saved her from an awkward castle encounter.

She grins and stands, opening the door for Elsa. “Morning,” Honeymaren greets, resting a hand on the back of her head. She watches the easy smile spread on Elsa’s face before she glides in.

“Good morning,” Elsa returns. She pauses to take in the room, her back stiffer than Honeymaren has ever seen. Perhaps wandering within these stifling castle walls has made Elsa’s royal habits kick back in. “Did you sleep well?”

Honeymaren blinks at Elsa’s question, stunned for a moment. Her mind is reeling from all the ways she could answer without offending Elsa. To tell her that her home is beautiful but much too large and void of life for Honeymaren’s comfort.

“I slept fine—great, actually,” Honeymaren lies. It tumbles past her lips ineloquently, and all she wants to do is shove her face into her hat for eternity.

Elsa just nods. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

A lengthy beat of silence stretches between them. It’s awkward enough for Honeymaren to feel like she’s suffocating. She clears her throat.

“So uh. . .what are we doing today?” she asks.

Elsa blinks and raises a brow. “I thought you wanted me to give you a tour of Arendelle?”

“Oh!” Honeymaren exclaims, eyes widening at the reminder. She inwardly berates herself for her stupidity. “Right, yeah I did ask that. Let me just get changed, and we can head out.”

Elsa smiles in response. “Alright, let me inform my sister; then I’ll be back to collect you.”

When she leaves, closing the door behind her, Honeymaren groans.

“What else would we be doing today, Honeymaren?” she talks to herself as she changes into her traditional Northuldran clothes.

About twenty minutes later, Elsa returns.

“Ready to go?” she asks regally.

Her blue eyes sparkle with a hint of something Honeymaren can’t place; yet, it sends a thrill down her spine.

Honeymaren finishes braiding her hair over her shoulder before letting it hang down her backside.

“Ready,” she replies with a tiny grin.

Elsa gives that quirk of a brow that seems both mischievous and confident. Honeymaren thinks she’s beginning to catch onto this enchanting quirk well. Elsa turns on her heels; and, with a mere glance over her shoulder, she starts off.

Honeymaren curses herself for not being prepared—the Fifth Spirit loves to take off without any announcement. She has to sprint when she realizes that Elsa is already at the end of the hall.

The Fifth Spirit pauses at the stairwell for her to catch up. The Northuldran woman takes a moment to catch her breath, and she swears she notices an inkling of an apologetic glance from Elsa, but it’s replaced by a regal calm just as quickly.

Honeymaren straightens herself and shoots Elsa a wide smile. Elsa just lifts that same thin brow at her as she did earlier—causing Honeymaren’s heart to flutter.

“I’m ready,” Honeymaren blurts out, though she takes a moment to wonder what exactly she’s ready for.

“Sorry,” Elsa finally speaks. Her cheeks are tinged a pretty pink. “I’ve been on my own for so long that I’m just used to leaving. I’ll make sure you’re ready next time,” she promises, biting her lip.

Honeymaren’s gaze is overtly drawn to those plump, ruby-red lips. Her own mouth parts, slightly agape.

 _What if I kissed her right now?_ Wait, what?

Honeymaren would smack herself right now if it wouldn’t make her look like a fool.

“Uh, yeah. . .sure. Don’t apologize; really. It’s fine!” Honeymaren replies, despite how warm she feels right now.

Is it possible for a woman who commands ice to make her feel _this_ warm?

Elsa’s lips twitch, and her bottom lip is freed from her teeth’s hold. The smile that proceeds to bloom along Elsa’s delicate face makes Honeymaren’s heart stutter. And, it’s contagious.

Honeymaren smiles back as they continue on their way, side by side, out of the castle. It’s not long before the two women enter the town square, and Elsa halts. Her blue eyes flicker amongst the endless shops and crowds before she turns to her companion.

“Where would you like to go first?”

Honeymaren looks over at Elsa with wide eyes.

“You’re kidding right? I have no idea where to start. It’s all so big with so many things!” Her eyes flicker from Elsa and back to the bustling town.

Elsa chuckles beside her. It’s then that Honeymaren gets an idea. She whirls on Elsa, excitement bright in her honey-brown eyes.

“Show me your favorite place. Don’t tell me where we’re going, just guide me.”

Beside her, Elsa blinks, then gives that tiny quirk of a smile that sets Honeymaren’s heart aflutter. Without a word, the Fifth Spirit takes Honeymaren by the hand and leads her through the crowd. Honeymaren allows herself to be pulled along with a goofy grin on her face.

When they stop, Honeymaren is hit with a heavenly aroma.

“What is that amazing smell?” she asks.

Elsa matches her grin. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Chocolate,” Elsa sighs in response.

Elsa wastes no time in opening the door for Honeymaren. The Northuldran woman thanks her and enters the shop. Honeymaren looks around with wide eyes.

She’s never seen so many sweets in one place before. Honeymaren carefully walks up the aisles, afraid to touch anything. She hears the shop owner greet Elsa in surprise and begin a chat with her.

The aroma in the shop is overwhelming. Honeymaren had no idea that there were so many different types of chocolate. She doesn’t even know where to begin. Back in Northuldra, chocolate doesn’t exist. They’d heard of it from the Arendellian soldiers when they were trapped in the mist; but, Honeymaren has never had the luxury of seeing—much less _tasting_ —chocolate.

Ten minutes later, Elsa finds her in the back of the shop. Honeymaren stiffens when Elsa’s arm brushes up against her. When they make eye contact, Honeymaren finds that she can’t pull away.

“Did you find anything you want?” Elsa asks. A soft smile is curled on her face. Her hands are clasped before her.

Honeymaren admires her regality.

“Yes,” she blurts. Honeymaren then backtracks. Her cheeks flush a rosy hue and her jaw drops, stuttering. “I-I mean, no! I haven’t. I’ve never actually had chocolate—let alone known that there were so many different kinds!”

Beside her, Elsa laughs lightly. It’s airy and melodic. Honeymaren’s face feels warmer, and she wishes she wasn’t an idiot for not knowing anything about chocolate. Despite this, she’s quite enraptured by the Fifth Spirit beside her. Elsa’s laugh makes her heart soar, and she doesn’t know why. She wants to hear it again.

“That’s okay,” Elsa says once her laughter dies out. “There are more flavors of chocolate than I can even name. It’s daunting.”

Honeymaren nods; Elsa’s words help her feel a little less overwhelmed.

“What’s your favorite?” Honeymaren asks, curious. Her brown eyes are filled with wonder as she looks back at the vast amount of flavors and chocolate truffles.

Elsa hums and taps her chin, deep in thought. Her blue eyes rove over the displays before her lips curl up into a tiny smile.

“Milk chocolate. Sometimes with caramel filling,” she answers.

Honeymaren tilts her head. “Caramel filling?”

Elsa’s smile widens. “Would you like a taste?”

Honeymaren blinks. Her eyes cautiously shift from Elsa to the sweets around them and back to her friend.

“W-Wouldn’t that be stealing?” she asks, her heart racing.

Elsa looks confused for a moment; her thin eyebrows are furrowed and her eyes squint.

“Stealing? Oh, no, of course not! We can have a small sample before we buy.”

“Oh!” Honeymaren exclaims, cheeks reddening a tad. “I didn’t know we could—o-okay. Yeah, I want to try a sample.”

Elsa gives her a smile and excuses herself for a moment to talk with the shop owner.

Honeymaren observes from afar, taking in how enthusiastic and at ease Elsa is when chatting with the shopkeeper about the samples. Honeymaren’s heart aches—her chest tightening a fraction, just enough to hinder her breath—when she realizes that this is the most relaxed she’s ever seen Elsa around people. She notices how Elsa’s back is less rigid, how her eyes twinkle a little brighter, and how speaking with an Arendellian seems to come easier. Honeymaren fails to pinpoint a moment where she’s seen Elsa this talkative back in the forest.

In nature, the Fifth Spirit is in her element, but it’s another story around the Northuldra. Honeymaren had thought Elsa was comfortable among them; but, her revelation makes her question what she thought she knew. A pang of jealousy ignites inside Honeymaren. What are the Arendellians doing that the Northuldra aren’t? What can she do to make Elsa feel this at ease in the forest?

Honeymaren’s thoughts are cut short when Elsa starts her way back over with a small tray of chocolates. The smile on Elsa’s face makes her heart skip; however, Honeymaren’s mood is soured when she remembers that the smile isn’t because of her—nor is it a smile she’s seen Elsa wear around the Northuldra.

“Have the milk chocolate first,” Elsa suggests, pointing to it on the tray.

Honeymaren pops the bite-sized chocolate piece into her mouth. The sweetness melts into her mouth, and she’s shocked at its richness. Milk chocolate has an exquisite taste that she’s never encountered before. Her nose scrunches a little, and she swallows. Elsa giggles beside her.

“Too sweet?” Elsa asks.

Honeymaren grunts a little, eyeing the tray.

“A little. Does all chocolate taste this sweet?”

Elsa shakes her head, picking up a darker piece.

“Most do, even some a little sweeter. You might like dark chocolate though. It’s bitter,” Elsa suggests, holding out some to her.

Bitter. Fitting for the emotions swirling in Honeymaren’s being right now.

Honeymaren looks at it skeptically, but curiosity gets the best of her; and, she takes it. When the dark chocolate melts on her tongue, Honeymaren hums her approval. This tastes much better than the milk chocolate. Less sweet. Perhaps she can pass on trying the other chocolates. She’s content with this specific kind.

As if reading her mind—perhaps Honeymaren’s an open book—Elsa puts the tray down with a smile.

“I assume the verdict is good?” she lilts.

Spirits, her voice is so melodic that it makes Honeymaren’s heart dance and soar simultaneously. Honeymaren swallows.

“It is. I like it better than the milk chocolate. You were right.”

“I’m glad,” Elsa says, then pauses. “Would you want to take some home?”

Honeymaren smiles at that.

“I’d love to.”

Elsa excuses herself for another couple of minutes as she heads back to the front, where the shopkeeper is, and purchases some chocolates.

After Honeymaren returns to Elsa’s side, they spend the next couple of hours exploring the other shops in the village. Honeymaren takes in the sights and sounds of Arendelle. Each new discovery reminds her of how different life is here compared to the forest.

The buildings are tall. The people are loud, gathering in much larger groups in more condensed spaces than Honeymaren’s used to. There’s an alarming lack of trees; and, Honeymaren catches a whiff of salt in the air from the fjord’s breeze.

Though her mood shifts throughout the day—uncertainty races through her mind on occasion due to the limited space she actually has in this town—it sours completely the more Elsa is taken from her side.

It’s clear that every Arendellian wants the Fifth Spirit’s attention. Attention that Honeymaren selfishly needs right now lest she be lost within Arendelle’s depths.

Honeymaren presses her mouth in a tight-lipped frown as she watches a small crowd form around Elsa, asking her to show her magic. Children latch onto the hem of her ivory dress with excited eyes as the snowflakes manifest before them. A bright smile adorns Elsa’s face—one so beautiful that Honeymaren can’t help but wish it’s for _her_.

“I’ve never seen you like this at home,” Honeymaren mutters under her breath to herself. Her chest aches at the knowledge that maybe the forest will never truly be Elsa’s home.

Since moving in with the Northuldra, Elsa has preferred to be on her own, despite the efforts Honeymaren’s people have made to help her feel welcome. Elsa is never around camp long enough for anyone to stop her for a chat; and, when she is around, she’s in her tent. Alone. The Northuldra figured that meant she needed space, so no one wanted to bother her. Children never surround Elsa in the forest, not like this. Could it be that the Fifth Spirit actually enjoys this type of attention and Honeymaren’s people got it wrong?

The contrast in Elsa’s interactions with Northuldrans compared to Arendellians is jarring enough for tears to spring up in the corners of Honeymaren’s eyes.

An Arendellian bumps into Honeymaren, forcing her to stumble to the side. Nearby Arendellians close the gap in the large circle, blocking Elsa from view.

Until now, never in her life has Honeymaren felt like an outsider looking in.

Swallowing around the tightness of her throat and wiping a few stray tears with the back of her hand, Honeymaren turns from the crowd. She drags her feet until she finds a seat on the ground by a building where fewer people are gathered. Honeymaren presses her back against the wall and pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.

The voices of the Arendellian crowd condense into white noise around her, and she closes her eyes, struggling not to sob.

She just wants Elsa.

Honeymaren doesn’t know how long she stays like this; but, eventually the noise starts to die down, and a soft hand on her own causes her to open her eyes.

Elsa’s solemn ice-blue eyes are staring into hers.

Honeymaren’s breath hitches, and she moves to stand; but, Elsa stops her with a frown.

She crouches down to Honeymaren’s level; and, Honeymaren’s gaze is drawn to how she catches her bottom lip between her teeth again.

Oh Spirits, why is it so hard to be angry at her?

“I’m sorry,” Elsa says softly. She takes one of Honeymaren’s hands with her free hand. “Are you okay?”

Honeymaren is speechless at how attuned Elsa seems to be to her emotions right now. She feels like she would do anything to keep the Fifth Spirit’s attention. The way Elsa’s brows furrow makes her heart selfishly flutter.

Honeymaren flushes a little when she realizes that she hasn’t spoken and Elsa is still waiting on a coherent response.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Just. . .” _Missing you._ “Just getting some air,” she finishes, knowing it’s the partial truth.

Elsa sighs and stands, taking both of Honeymaren’s hands to pull her up.

“I have an idea,” Elsa tells her before a mischievous grin blooms along her features.

Honeymaren’s unsure if she should be intrigued or scared.

 _Spirits, I’d go anywhere with you_ , Honeymaren thinks, surprising herself.

Elsa walks backwards, pulling Honeymaren along. Her grin is contagious enough that Honeymaren laughs when she finds her own lips curl upward. She then holds on tight when Elsa starts to let go. Honeymaren fights to keep one of Elsa’s hands— _so soft_ —in her grasp when they break into a run towards the outskirts of the town.

Elsa leads Honeymaren to the top of an unoccupied cliff that overlooks the town.

When they sit on the edge, their legs dangling, Honeymaren’s breath is taken at the view. The sun is beginning to set, its orange glow bathing both the fjord and castle. The stars are already faintly twinkling on the darkening canvas of the sky.

“Wow,” Honeymaren breathes. She vaguely notices that Elsa’s hand is still holding hers.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Anna showed me this secret spot of hers shortly after we opened the gates. I still come here at times when I need a breather.”

Honeymaren’s eyes widen. She bites the corner of her lip, and her fingers fidget, nails digging into the fabric of her pants. She’s been so wrapped up in her own world that she hasn’t stopped to think how Elsa might feel about the crowds. Honeymaren inwardly curses herself for her selfishness.

“I’m sorry,” Elsa apologizes again, her legs are curled up to her chest now, mirroring Honeymaren’s position from earlier. “I didn’t forget about you. I mean—I didn’t mean to leave you alone. The townsfolk often demand my attention whenever I visit. I used to be their queen, and I’m still royalty—” Elsa’s rambling now. Her cheeks are flushed, and she averts her gaze from Honeymaren’s, staring down at Arendelle instead.

“They don’t see you often anymore,” Honeymaren cuts in. She shrugs, her fingers picking at the beaded hem of her jacket. She then sighs; Honeymaren can’t fault her for appeasing the Arendellians.

“They never really did, even when I lived here,” Elsa confesses.

Honeymaren’s eyes widen, and she fights with herself about prying for more. The Northuldra regularly interact with their leaders. Where she comes from, everyone knows each other. She can’t imagine not seeing much of Yelena or any of the Elders—how could anyone lead without seeing their people daily?

Elsa sighs beside Honeymaren, running a hand through her blonde tresses.

“I’m sorry; I’m a terrible hostess. I should have never left your side—”

“Stop,” Honeymaren cuts her off. She’s frowning. No matter how upset she was earlier, she won’t allow Elsa to self-deprecate; a habit she picked up on the moment Elsa began staying with the Northuldra. “You don’t need to apologize. You can’t control how your kingdom reacts to your return. They were excited; that’s not your fault.”

Elsa’s eyes shoot over to her; and, Honeymaren nearly rolls her own at the disbelief in Elsa’s gaze.

“Don’t give me that look. You can’t look me in the eye and say you aren’t blaming yourself right now. I may not have known you for very long, but you’re quite predictable, Elsa,” Honeymaren retorts.

The way Elsa’s eyes widen in shock at her boldness tells Honeymaren that she hit the nail on the head. Her lips curl upward, proud of herself for her perceptiveness.

Movement under her hand draws her eyes downward, and she’s reminded that she’s still holding Elsa’s hand.

Honeymaren lifts their hands and turns Elsa’s over, palm up, revealing the fading burn mark on her alabaster skin.

“May I?”

Elsa nods, biting her lip again.

Honeymaren traces the skin around the peeling flesh. It’s dry, but making way for healing.

Elsa’s hand trembles beneath her gentle grip.

“Does it hurt at all?” she asks.

Elsa shakes her head and shifts closer. Their knees brush, and Honeymaren shudders.

 _Focus_ , she scolds herself.

“No, not at all. I don’t even think it’ll scar,” Elsa replies. The smile that follows is soft. “All thanks to you, of course.”

The back of Honeymaren’s neck feels hot, and she swallows thickly. At the end of the day, she won the most genuine and beautiful smile. And now Honeymaren doesn’t even know how to respond. She gapes, like a fish out of water.

What was she upset about earlier again? Spirits, she is such a loser. Ryder will have a field day if he ever learns of her antics.

“O-Of course! It’s no problem. I’m glad it’s healing properly,” she replies with a tiny grin. Honeymaren’s never been praised for her patch-up work before. _Mediocre at best,_ Yelena would say whenever she practiced dressing wounds—a much needed skill for the Northuldra. Come to think of it, she's surprised Yelena even entrusted her to treat the Fifth Spirit properly. Of all people! Perhaps Honeymaren isn’t as much of an amateur at first aid as her grandmother lets on.

Honeymaren breaks out of her thoughts when Elsa carefully pulls her hand away and folds it into her free hand on her lap. A faint blush taints Elsa’s cheeks as she puts distance between them. It’s both endearing and heartbreaking; Honeymaren misses the softness of her hand.

Honeymaren wants to ask her more about her life in Arendelle but is afraid she’ll overstep a boundary. Up until now, the majority of their conversations were about the wellbeing of the forest and small talk. Yet, Honeymaren longs to know more about the mysterious Fifth Spirit. Elsa’s quiet and resilient nature is what draws Honeymaren to her; much like a fly to a fire. She can only hope that her curiosity won’t burn her in the end.

“Are you feeling better?” Elsa asks. Her head is tilted towards Honeymaren, her eyebrows creased. Her lower lip worries between her teeth.

Though her concern is noted, and Honeymaren flies high on the fact that this woman is actually _worried_ about her, she can’t help but want to pull Elsa’s beautiful face closer so she can capture those lips between her own teeth.

“Honeymaren?”

At the soft call of her name, Honeymaren is ripped from her reverie.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, I’m feeling much better, actually.” Honeymaren’s expression grows soft, and her heart swells; it feels full. “Thank you.”

The genuine smile she receives in return makes her heart burst, and Honeymaren finds herself grinning like an idiot.

When the sun sets, Elsa’s attention turns to the stars, and Honeymaren strategically shifts closer so their shoulders are touching and their hands brush when Elsa points out each of the constellations.

In the depths of Honeymaren’s mind, she knows the only constellation she wants to be lost in is the one made up of stars in Elsa’s bright blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn I said, but Honeymaren has other ideas. Elsa will keep the fire burning slow, though (thank you, Elsa, for listening to me.). 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed the fluff here, because this will be the last full fluffy chapter in a while. Which means no more cavities for me! But also, we get to dive head-first into the plot now :D
> 
> One last thing, I tagged them on the front page, but I want to reiterate here: this story has heavy themes of racism, colonialism, misogyny, and homophobia. Please be aware of this if you decide to continue reading!
> 
> Take care!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse any mistakes/typos. I edited this on my own and may have missed some.

The next day they prepare to leave and bid their farewells. Elsa pulls her sister into a tight hug. It’s heartfelt yet bittersweet. She feels Anna’s frown against her shoulder.

“Do you have to go?” Anna murmurs, pulling away just enough to catch Elsa’s eyes.

Elsa gives a sad smile.

“The forest needs me. But don’t worry, Gale will send you all my letters and I’ll be back before you know it,” she assures her sister.

When they part, Anna has a tiny smile on her face. She then looks to Honeymaren and nods.

“It was nice seeing you again too, Honeymaren. Please take care of my sister, I know she can get herself into trouble sometimes. She’s stubborn.”

Elsa resists rolling her eyes, but can’t keep the smile off of her face.

Honeymaren grins beside her.

“I’ll try my best, but like you said, she’s stubborn,” she replies and the two women briefly share a moment.

Elsa feels Honeymaren brush a hand against hers as they remain beside each other. Her skin tingles at the touch.

Elsa turns to Honeymaren, a smile dancing on her face. “Ready to go?”

Honeymaren nods.

After one last hug with her sister, Elsa leads Honeymaren to the fjord where she calls on the water spirit.

The Nokk leaps out of the water. He throws his head back, spraying the women with droplets of salty water, and prances next to the docks.

Honeymaren shivers a little, wringing out the end of her braid. Her lips are twisted into an annoyed expression. Elsa has to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing at her friend’s misfortune of receiving the brunt of the splash.

“Show off,” Honeymaren grumbles.

“He means well,” Elsa giggles and steps to the edge with an outstretched hand.

The moment Elsa’s finger caresses the water horse’s snout, the spirit solidifies to ice in a mist of magic. Honeymaren’s soft gasp can be heard from behind, making Elsa smile with pride. It’s moments like these, where she can embrace herself and her magic, that she lives for.

Elsa glances over her shoulder, her bright blonde hair falling across her back, to Honeymaren. The Northuldran woman tilts her head in question.

“Are you ready?” Elsa asks.

Nokk huffs against her and sniffs her hair, nudging Elsa impatiently.

Honeymaren steps forward, placing a hand on the water spirit’s flank, and nods. Elsa helps her up onto the horse before pulling herself up. Honeymaren’s arm almost instantly wraps around her waist.

Elsa feels her friend rest her chin on her shoulder. Honeymaren’s warm breath ghosts over the nape of Elsa’s neck and she resists a shudder. Honeymaren gasps when Nokk starts forward, galloping on the waves of the fjord toward the narrow crevice between two mountains and to the north.

“I don’t think I will ever get used to this,” Honeymaren huffs lightly against Elsa’s ear.

Her hot breath tickles. Elsa shivers. She places a hand over Honeymaren’s—if only to give her a better sense of security.

“That’s alright. You don’t need to.”

They’re silent the rest of the way back. Elsa closes her eyes and inhales, taking in the natural scents around her as they approach the Dark Sea’s shores. The steady thundering of Nokk’s icy hooves fills her ears when they leave the water and gallop through the forest.

It’s a calming enough rhythm that Elsa swears her heart falls victim to it.

The water spirit slows to a trot when the Northuldra camp comes into view. Elsa urges him to a halt right outside of the camp. Both women slide off the horse and Nokk bounds off back towards the ocean.

As Elsa turns, Honeymaren latches onto her arm and gasps.

“What?” Elsa asks.

Honeymaren urges her to turn fully and take in the camp. Elsa’s eyes widen. Red is the first thing she sees. An overabundance of it.

“Red coats,” Elsa gasps out. She’s frozen still, even as Honeymaren turns to her.

“You know them?”

Elsa worries her lip and nods.

“A little. It’s what Great Britain’s military wears. What in the world are they doing all the way up  _ here _ ?” Elsa’s afraid to know the answer.

When they start toward the camp, Elsa notices the change in atmosphere. The heavy fog of fear is stifling. Honeymaren tightens her hold on Elsa’s arm, who lifts her hand to cover Honeymaren’s, squeezing her fingers in an attempt to soothe her.

The Northuldra camp is deathly quiet. Doors are closed tight once children are ushered inside. Most campfires are doused while some still have embers crackling within the firewood. Few people are gathered, murmuring in hushed tones as they look on towards the red coats.

“Elsa,” Honeymaren whispers harshly. Her brown eyes are blown wide. Her chest collapses when she releases a shuddering breath. “We need to speak to Yelena and the Elders.”

Elsa can’t find it in herself to speak so she nods and allows Honeymaren to lead her to grandmother’s tent.

Yelena looks up from her meeting the second they enter. An eerie silence envelops the room.

Honeymaren’s the first to speak.

“Yelena, what’s going on? Why is the British army here?”

Yelena sighs and she motions for the two women to sit. Elsa joins the circle and Honeymaren finds a seat next to her.

Elsa remains silent, waiting to hear what Yelena has to say. Some of the Elders cast their gaze over to her and Elsa’s breath catches and her heart races under their scrutiny. Before Elsa can think much about it, Yelena begins.

“They’ve been here for a day now. They arrived early morning yesterday and set up camp not too far. We’ve tried to speak with them, but the leader refuses until the so-called ‘Snow Queen’ speaks to them first,” Yelena informs. She’s tense as she speaks, the wrinkles on her face are more prominent in her distress when she frowns.

Elsa feels Honeymaren bristle beside her.

“What do they want with Elsa? What’s so important that they can’t tell us why they’re here?! This is  _ our _ home, we deserve answers!” she exclaims, her brown eyes lit with a fury that Elsa’s never seen before.

Yelena fixes Honeymaren with a stoic gaze, clearly unfazed by Honeymaren’s outburst—as if she was expecting it.

“They don’t see it that way.”

“What?!” Honeymaren’s voice raises an octave. She shoots to her feet, causing some of the Elders to murmur. “What do you mean they don’t see it that way?! They walked into  _ our _ forest and saw  _ our _ camp! How can they—”

“Enough, Honeymaren!” Yelena’s voice booms and echoes throughout the tent, demanding both attention and respect. “Sit back down and control yourself. I understand why you’re upset, we all do, but yelling will get you nowhere— _ especially _ with these men. It’s imperative that we treat this situation delicately and go on about our normal business until we can speak with them.”

Honeymaren remains standing, her eyes blown wide in shock. As her gaze meets each person in the room, Elsa’s heart pangs for her. How often is this brilliant woman shut down in front of a room of important people? For a moment, Honeymaren reminds her of Anna. Outspoken, but stubborn. Strong, but wears her heart on her sleeve.

Elsa watches her hesitate. Honeymaren’s hands are balled into fists at her sides and Elsa can’t imagine how powerless she must feel in this moment.

“But—”

“Honeymaren! Sit. Down,” Yelena growls, as though she’s scolding a child. The tension between the two is palpable.

Elsa leans up on her knees and takes Honeymaren by the arm. When her friend’s wide eyes meet her own, Elsa spots a lone tear trailing down her cheek.

“Sit with me, please?” she murmurs, urging Honeymaren to calm and listen.

Honeymaren hesitates, then nods and re-assumes her place at Elsa’s side. Elsa takes her hand and ghosts the pad of her thumb over her friend’s knuckles in hopes of soothing her.

Honeymaren stares down at their hands, shocked, before a small smile crosses her features.

Yelena sighs and the meeting resumes.

Other people in the room express their concern over how to keep the situation from escalating.

It’s when everyone seems to be at a loss that Elsa decides to speak up.

“I’ll talk to them,” she says so softly that it’s a whisper. But it’s enough to gain the attention of the entire room.

She feels Honeymaren’s grip on her hand tighten before she turns. Elsa glances at her out of the corner of her eye; her dark eyebrows are creased and a deep frown mars her countenance.

“Elsa—”

“You want to handle this delicately without it escalating right? Well, they asked for me. And, from my experience with the British, you give them an audience with the Queen first.” Elsa doesn’t give Honeymaren a chance to protest, she can see it in her expression. “I’m the former queen of Arendelle. I’ve dealt with men like them before, please let me use my diplomatic training to help you.”

When she finishes her speech, a deep murmur rumbles through the tent.

“Very well,” Yelena agrees, cutting through the murmuring.

“What? Yelena—” Honeymaren gasps, stiffening.

Yelena raises a hand to silence her and Elsa closes her eyes at the display. Honeymaren’s heart is in the right place, but Elsa fears she’s much too rash.

“However, you will not go alone. We stand together,” Yelena continues, leaving no more room for discussion.

Elsa smiles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Minutes later the meeting is adjourned. Elsa slips her hand from Honeymaren’s to head outside. The cold breeze of the winter hits her the moment she opens the door and the fresh hair and silence is a relief.

After having to entertain people in Arendelle during her visit only to be crowded again upon her return to Northuldra, the short reprieve is welcome. Elsa’s thankful for the amount of space and serenity the enchanted forest grants her.

However, this moment is only short-lived. Elsa’s not at all surprised when Honeymaren follows her outside. The Snow Queen starts on her way to her own tent. She’ll need a couple of hours to prepare for her audience with the British.

“Elsa wait!” Honeymaren calls, there’s a slight shrill to her tone that forces Elsa to halt.

Elsa sighs, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

She feels Honeymaren’s gaze burn through her back, but she doesn’t bother to turn.

There’s a pregnant pause, then— “Can we talk?”

Elsa tilts her head towards the sky, taking a deep breath. Then, she faces Honeymaren.

The smile on Honeymaren’s face is faint. Her eyes flicker with a hope that Elsa knows she’ll crush.

Elsa’s chest constricts. She hates letting people down.

“Elsa,” Honeymaren starts again, taking a step forward. “Please reconsider, there has to be another way. They asked for you, but you don’t need to listen. They don’t need to know you’re here at all.”

Elsa’s jaw sets. She frowns. She doesn’t move from her place—between Honeymaren and her tent.

“You don’t have faith in me,” she replies, her blue eyes widening at the realization. “You don’t think I can hold a meeting to benefit our people and convince them to leave?”

Honeymaren stiffens. Her eyes are wider than dinner plates. She shakes her head, taking a step closer.

“Elsa, that’s not what I—”

“I think that’s exactly what you meant,” Elsa cuts her off, voice sharp as a blade. Her heart hammers in her chest. Her thin brows crease, mouth set in a tight line. Her teeth nearly grind behind her lips. Of all of the people here in Northuldra, she thought Honeymaren would have the most faith in her. It hurts to realize she was wrong.

Honeymaren’s silence is palpable. Elsa wants so desperately to make her understand.

“I’m here for a  _ reason _ ,” Elsa continues, voice wavering. “For months I wondered what that was. Ahtohallan changed me, but it didn’t provide me with a booklet of instructions on what my purpose is and how to fulfill it. What if  _ this _ is my purpose? To protect the Northuldra and the forest from  _ them _ ?” Elsa’s voice shakes beneath the weight of her words. It’s all she can do to not cry.

Honeymaren watches her with parted lips. The way her mouth shuts under the quivering of her jaw tells Elsa that she’s holding back. Elsa wonders if she’ll ever get through to her.

“I  _ do _ have faith in you, Elsa,” Honeymaren says softly, taking a slow step as if careful not to scare off a spooked mare. “I just—Anna entrusted me to make sure you wouldn’t get yourself hurt. I may not know you as well as your sister, but I  _ do _ know that selling yourself to these men is not the way to protect us and the forest.”

Elsa rolls her eyes, holding back a scoff.

“I’m not selling myself. I never said that. We’re just holding an audience and I won’t be alone.”

Honeymaren frowns and backs away, her eyes are downcast.

“Just, please don’t sacrifice yourself. It won’t do any of us good.”

Elsa purses her lips. She’s known Honeymaren for only a couple of months, how dare she act as though she knows her?

“I won’t,” she says before turning on her heels and heads inside her tent, leaving Honeymaren to sit with her words of dismissal.

Honeymaren stares at the door Elsa closed on her. She wipes at her eyes, the back of her hand catching the warm tears that threaten to spill.

“You want me to understand you, but how can I when you won’t let me in?” she murmurs under her breath. With one last look at Elsa’s tent, Honeymaren walks off towards the edge of the camp.

She finds a tree to lean against, crossing her arms as she stares at the ground, absently kicking a rock.

A trill catches her attention and Honeymaren lifts her head, eyes searching for the source. Another trill sounds next to her ear and she jumps two feet in the air with a barely restrained yelp. When she directs her gaze to the tree, the fire spirit is staring at her from his vertical position on the bark.

“Ugh, Bruni, really?! This is  _ not _ the time!” she growls, her frustration of the day filtering through.

The blue salamander just tilts his head at her and licks his eyeball.

“If you’re looking for Elsa, she’s not here. She’s too busy mulling in her tent over how she’ll be our savior,” Honeymaren bites out with a roll of her eyes. Her chest fills with hot air and she wants to scream. Her hands ball into fists. She catches sight of a rock and surges down to grab it. Squeezing the smooth rock between her fingers, Honeymaren chucks it with a loud grunt, using her pent up fury to make it soar as far as she could. It travels so far that she doesn’t even see or hear where it lands.

Honeymaren breathes heavily, face flushed from exertion. Bruni chitters from below. When she looks down, he’s staring up at her with his large bulbous eyes.

“What?” she huffs. “I’m not Elsa, I can’t understand you.”

He continues to stare. It’s unnerving.

Just when Honeymaren is ready to turn and leave, the fire spirit circles restlessly. He skitters between her legs, causing her to gasp and shift her feet so as not to step on him. Bruni chitters again and looks up at her when she steps to the side. He follows her.

“The heck—what’s gotten into you?” Honeymaren gasps.

The blue salamander lifts a paw and latches onto her pant leg, pulling at the fabric as he tries to scramble up. Honeymaren jerks back a little, shocked at the bold display of the usually skittish fire spirit.

To prevent him from clawing holes into the fabric of her pants, Honeymaren leans down to scoop him into her palms like she’s seen Elsa do so many times before. Once situated in her hand, Bruni rests his front paws on her index and middle finger. He leans his head over the edge as if to point her in a specific direction.

Honeymaren purses her lips. While her culture urges her to listen to it, she isn’t as attune to nature—or the spirits in this case—as she would like.

“What? I can’t understand you!” she says, exasperated.

Bruni circles in her palm again and trills. He blinks up at her before turning to look back at the camp.

Honeymaren follows his gaze, squinting her eyes.

“You want to be brought into camp? Couldn’t you have done that yourself?” She rolls her eyes, but starts her way back anyway.

As she re-enters the camp, a couple of people nearby watch her, their eyes locked on the fire spirit perched in her hand. She gives an awkward smile, not used to the sudden attention. In the back of her mind, she vaguely wonders if this is how Elsa feels all the time.

Bruni chitters again, crawling to her thumb before looking back up at her expectantly. That’s when Honeymaren realizes that he’s trying to guide her somewhere. She feels silly and realizes she must look ridiculous walking around using a blue salamander like a compass.

A couple minutes later, Honeymaren recognizes Elsa’s tent in the distance and halts, twisting her mouth into a crooked frown. She glares down at the little fire spirit.

“You want her? You can go to her yourself, I’m  _ not _ taking you there, much less  _ knocking _ on her door,” she growls.

Bruni blinks and chitters. It sounds like he’s arguing with her.

“I said no!”

Bruni ignites in her palm.

“Ow! The hell?!” she shrieks, leaping up and shaking her hands vigorously.

The fire spirit holds on tight to one of her fingers. He douses himself and licks his eye.

Honeymaren growls, holding up her hand face-down; the salamander dangles comically in front of her face.

“Fine, you win. I’ll take you to her tent but that’s  _ it _ ,” she hisses, pointing a threatening finger at him.

Bruni’s tongue lolls from the corner of his mouth as she readjusts her hand so he’s back in her upright palm. Once he appears settled, Honeymaren starts forward again and walks until she’s a couple of feet away from the door. When Bruni doesn’t move, she sighs and kneels on the ground, peeling his restless little body off her hand and places him on the ground.

“There, happy?” she huffs, placing her hands on her hips.

The fire spirit doesn’t seem to be paying attention to her anymore. Instead, he paces along the edges of Elsa’s tent, peering into the crevices and digging at the ground. It’s painstaking to watch how he makes laps around the building and whines.

Honeymaren can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong, but she forces herself to turn away anyway.

She needs to speak with Yelena.

Honeymaren turns away from the scene. She doesn’t get very far before she nearly bumps into her grandmother. The elder woman is unfazed. Honeymaren prepares herself for a lecture that never comes. Instead, Yelena’s focus seems to be elsewhere.

“The spirits are restless,” Yelena says, her gaze shifts from a pacing Bruni to a bewildered Honeymaren.

“The spirits?” she asks. Her grandmother’s intuition when it comes to nature is never to be taken lightly. The Northuldra have looked to her for decades whenever nature speaks. Honeymaren envies Yelena’s gift for reading and understanding the spirits; on her own, she could only speculate—usually she’s wrong.

Yelena hums, it’s long and deep.

Honeymaren looks back to where Bruni is, pacing outside Elsa’s tent.

“Why do you think they’re upset?”

Yelena sighs. She steps up next to Honeymaren and digs her staff into the dirt.

“Something is disrupting the balance,” Yelena replies. Her lips pinch into a thin frown.

Honeymaren’s stomach churns and she feels a bout of nausea wash over her. How could it be that only a couple months after the arrival of the Fifth Spirit and the removal of the mist that things were already out of balance? Are they reacting to the presence of the British or is there something else—something that they missed?

Honeymaren frowns, her jaw stiffening. She pushes the thoughts to the back of her mind. She has something more immediate to speak to her grandmother about.

“Yelena,” she says. “Can we talk? It’s about the meeting—I don’t think it’s a good idea for Elsa to reveal herself.”

Yelena grunts a little and Honeymaren has a hard time reading through her stoic expression.

“Normally I would agree, but I’m afraid we have no choice. Elsa is willing to speak on our behalf and any of our attempts before you both arrived back from Arendelle have gone unacknowledged. I sent Eret and a small group of men to inform them of the meeting earlier. We gather at sunset,” Yelena tells her. The elder’s voice is commanding enough to leave no room for further discussion. “You don’t have to come, of course. But, if you do, I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

Honeymaren inwardly flinches at the warning. Her hands curl into fists, surrendering to her grandmother’s words as she watches her walk away.

As Honeymaren makes her way back to her tent, she feels sick to her stomach. She can only pray that Elsa will be able to convince the unwanted men to leave. For all of their sakes.

Once the sun begins to set, the Northuldra gather. The fear is palpable in the silence and hushed whispers. Honeymaren can just barely keep herself from fidgeting due to nerves. Ryder comes up to stand next to her. When they lock eyes, he gives her a tiny, reassuring smile.

“We’ll be okay,” he murmurs to her, eyes lit with an optimism that she wishes she could unearth right now.

Her fingers curl into a death grip on her staff, nails turning white from the pressure. Though the presence of her brother grounds her a little, she can’t help but search the crowd for a familiar blonde beauty.

“Where’s Elsa?” she asks, her heart squeezes in her chest. She doesn’t want the Fifth Spirit to stray too far from her during this encounter. Just in case; though, Honeymaren isn’t sure if it’s for the safety of her own people or for Elsa’s.

Ryder chuckles a little next to her.

“She’s on her way, Mar. Relax. She’s just talking to Yelena,” he says, pointing her in the direction.

Sure enough, a little ways from where the Northuldra are gathered, Elsa is having a quiet chat with Yelena. Though, Honeymaren can’t tell how she’s feeling through her stoic exterior. Her hand is held out in front of her where Honeymaren notices the small blue form of the fire spirit nestled in her palm. Once Elsa starts her way over, Bruni crawls up her arm and onto her shoulder to hide himself in the curtain of her blonde waves.

Honeymaren tries to catch her eye, but Elsa remains impassive. Not a flicker of emotion breaks through her icy exterior. For the first time, she sees every bit of a ‘Snow Queen’ as Elsa takes her place near the front of the group. When Yelena stands beside the Fifth Spirit, Honeymaren pushes her way through a small gap between the people in front of her to stand between Yelena and Elsa.

She shivers and it takes her a moment to realize that a drastic drop in temperature is exuding from the Fifth Spirit herself; she wonders if Elsa is nervous. Despite their argument from earlier, Honeymaren longs to take Elsa’s hand in hers; and, to tell her that she’s not alone. Her hand twitches at her side. Just when she actually starts to throw caution to the wind and inches closer for Elsa’s hand, a trumpet sounds.

Honeymaren forces her hand back to her side.

A couple of horses in the distance lead an entourage of men. One of them flies the flag of Great Britain.

When the three horses halt a couple hundred feet from the Northuldra, one of the men raises a hand for the rest to halt behind him. Silence stretches between the two groups.

Honeymaren glances at Elsa from the corner of her eyes. She’s as rigid as a statue; head held high, shoulders pushed back, and her lips are held in a thin line. Her pensive expression is nothing compared to the coldness in her bright blue eyes. Elsa is every bit of a queen before her; a force to be reckoned with.

“I’m here on the behalf of Britain!” A commanding voice booms across the Northuldran camp.

The Northuldra begin to stir with hushed whispers. Yelena raises a hand and the whispering quiets. Honeymaren shifts next to her grandmother, stomach turning at the sight of the entourage of white men who have barged into their home.

However, it doesn’t last long when she notices his gaze flicker to Elsa beside her. Hot dread and. . .something else lingers in her chest as the large man dismounts his stride and reaches out with a hand to the ethereal woman.

“Ah, you must be the Snow Queen we’ve heard so much about. Allow me to introduce myself. Lord Edward Wadington, Your Majesty.”

He bows and takes Elsa’s hand without permission, placing a lingering kiss on her delicate knuckles. Honeymaren clenches her teeth and her hands ball into fists. As Elsa carefully pulls her hand away, Honeymaren feels bile rise in her throat at the way this man’s eyes roam Elsa’s figure.

She shifts a little closer to the Fifth Spirit, squinting her eyes into a glare at the lord. Her hand itches to wrap around Elsa’s waist; and, she longs to tell him to keep his eyes to himself. Disgusting.

Not a flicker of emotion betrays Elsa’s stoic expression. Honeymaren admires her composure because  _ she _ would have kneed him between the legs by now.

“It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Lord Edward,” Elsa replies, voice raising in an assertive way that Honeymaren has never heard before. “What brings you here?”

This is an Elsa the Northuldra have never witnessed, not even when they’ve first met her under the mist.

Lord Edward takes a step back, adjusting himself. His red coat is so tight around his wide body that a button or two on his stomach looks ready to pop. He grins toothily at Elsa, a gold piece catches the light.

_ Spirits, he’s so disgusting, _ Honeymaren inwardly growls.

“We’ve heard of an enchanted forest far up North and its powerful yet beautiful Snow Queen. On the behalf of Britain, I thought I’d see it for myself,” he replies, voice booming. He chuckles at his own musings and a couple of his men join him.

The Northuldra shift uneasily. Honeymaren clenches her teeth. He acts as though the enchanted forest and its people are a prize. A rare commodity;  _ animals _ to be caged and seen.

Elsa seems unfazed, but Honeymaren notices a tiny flicker of fury behind her blue eyes. She has to keep herself from grinning. There’s her Elsa.

“Well, you’ve seen. Now, you may leave. There’s nothing else here but forestry,” Elsa replies diplomatically.

A loud belly laugh escapes Lord Edward and he raises his arms.

“Leave? Your Majesty, we’ve only just arrived. There’s. . .many things to be explored. We’re your guests and we’d  _ enjoy _ a tour by yours truly like the good hostess you are.”

Oh hell no. A tour? Not under  _ her  _ watch.

“You imply as though that I’ve invited you. We both know that’s not true. Therefore, I am disinclined to acquiesce your request,” Elsa counters, jawline stiff.

Beside Elsa, Honeymaren grins at Lord Edward.  _ Take that you filthy bastard. _

Lord Edward’s eyes widen before he laughs again.

“Snow Queen, you’re full of surprises!” He signals to his men who back up and turn. Lord Edward mounts his horse and smirks down at Elsa. “We’ll finish setting up camp, Your Majesty. I know you’ll know where to find me—I’d certainly love that. . .tour.”

With one last look at Elsa that sends goosebumps up Honeymaren’s arms, he gallops off.

Once they’re gone, Honeymaren rounds on Elsa who turns away. Bruni peeks through her hair, glaring in the direction Lord Edward left through.

Honeymaren opens her mouth to say something—to tell Elsa how proud of her she is—but Elsa doesn’t pay her any mind. She glides through the crowd of Northuldra and out of her sight.

“Gah!” she growls, kicking at a rock. A crowd of people nearby give her odd looks and she glares at them.

“You okay there, Mar?” Ryder asks, coming up from behind her.

“No, I’m not,” she hisses, rounding on him.

Ryder raises his hands in surrender, eyebrows raised as he takes another cautious step.

“This wouldn’t have to do with a certain blonde-haired and blue-eyed Fifth Spirit would it?”

Honeymaren shoots him a glare.

“Okay okay, relax. Come here.” Ryder takes her by the arm and leads her off to the side, giving them more privacy. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Honeymaren leans against a tree, letting loose a loud sigh.

A silence stretches between them and Honeymaren is grateful that her brother is allowing her to unwind and speak at her own pace.

“That man is disgusting. Did you see that?! He was practically undressing her with his eyes! And a tour?! Please, we both know what kind of tour he meant,” she huffs. All the emotions that she’d bottled up during the encounter comes bursting out; and, it’s a relief.

Ryder watches her sympathetically, but doesn’t comment. Honeymaren closes her eyes and leans back on a tree trunk.

“We had a fight, Ry. And now she won’t talk to me.” It hurts to admit, but she fears Elsa will keep her shut out. She doesn’t know how to fix it. The argument was her fault in the first place. Why does she always let her emotions get the best of her?

Ryder sighs, placing a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder.

“I think, considering what just transpired, that you should give her space. Let her calm and sort out her own feelings. Let her come to you. This can’t be easy for her either.”

Honeymaren takes in his words. Space. That was something Elsa granted her back in Arendelle, why couldn’t she do the same for Elsa here?

She exhales slowly and nods.

“You’re right, Ry. I’ll give her space, then I’ll try talking to her again—if she doesn’t come to me first.”

Honeymaren just worries about what goes on in Elsa’s mind when she’s left alone.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to hear what you guys think of this heavy chapter. All the fun stuff begins now ;)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back from an almost 8-month writer's block with a new fic (woo-hoo). I'm not abandoning my other fics, but I'm vibrating with excitement about this one. It's been in the back of my mind since watching Frozen II for the first time and I've finally been able to give it a full plot. Buckle in, this is going to be a long and rough ride! 
> 
> Also, please leave a comment or two on your way out ;)


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